


a conversation at altitude

by kedda



Series: non perdere la fiducia in me [3]
Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: "i disertori dello terrazzo", Awkward Conversations, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Music, Slight spoilers, conclude from that what you will, fluff at the end, for og SKAM S3, i wrote this after ep3 and before ep4, post-s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-08 16:37:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16433045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedda/pseuds/kedda
Summary: Some things remain to be said.





	a conversation at altitude

**Author's Note:**

> **very vague spoiler-y content** based off of the og S3, as this fic would be set after the current season, S2.

Emma was jiggling her leg up and down and frowning.  The last few times they’d come up here to listen to music everything faded away; all the noise and stress had paused for the thirty minutes they’d listen to a playlist or an album.  One of the times Niccolò came up he said it was like watching people experience a drug trip simultaneously. “I don’t personally get it,” he’d smiled, though there was the trace of a frown in his brow, “the way you guys zone out when Tycho comes on.”  Marti had found him in the courtyard at the end of the day clicking around on his phone. He didn’t have to see what Niccolò was doing to know that he was scrolling through the same five ringtones the way he did when he was upset but either didn’t know what to do about it, or was waiting to do something about it.  Sneaking up behind him, Marti caught him around the waist and dragged him backwards through the school gates. It got him laughing at least, which had been Marti’s intention. They ended up listening to Ratatat and Isaiah Rashad while swinging their legs over the Tiber. “You’re my favorite, you know that?” Marti had said, lightly pressing his thumb into Nico’s cheekbone as he stroked the skin there.  Niccolò had just leaned into his palm and hummed.

 

The beat shifted, signalling a track change.  Emma kept bouncing her leg. Sighing, Martino paused the song and reached out with his other hand to quiet her knee.  She startled and, seeing something in his eyes, she cautiously pulled out her earbuds.

“What’s up?” she asked.  He sensed her reservation, and suddenly understood there was something on her mind that she’d been waiting for some time to say.  These days he was realizing that everyone had something going on, that everyone had their own normal that made sense to them. He’d fucked up, bad, before he learned that what he took for granted was not the same as what Emma took for granted.  She hadn’t been a real person to him then because he knew what she wanted from him and he knew that he could not give it to her. Any relationship beyond friendship with her had been a dead-end from the start; this was a fact that he had not even let himself accept until he and Niccolò had curled into each other in that alley, skin contact propelling them closer.  But Emma hadn’t known that until she found it out for herself. At the time he had been too distraught and messed up to really pay her any attention, let alone regret anything; in hindsight, he knew Eva to have been right when she’d told him to come clean with Emma. “I’m not saying that you should tell her that you’re gay, just that you can’t look for anything with her,” she’d said, totally oblivious to the way she had dumped his world upside down.  Maybe that wasn’t quite right—Eva was sneaky in her own right and likely had felt some degree of schadenfreude to have surprised him. He hadn’t wanted to confirm anything she’d said, but could not deny that he’d been using Covitti. “I’ll break things off with her soon,” he’d said. But he’d been too late. Emma had stayed away for weeks before he received a Whatsapp message with a single leaf emoji one day. He’d found her on the roof. He didn’t tell her what had happened there just the week before—that was something that would stay strictly between him and Niccolò.  But he couldn’t help feeling winded when he stepped through the door and saw San Giovanni winking in the distance.

Now she turned to lean on the iron fence, peering out over the rooftops.

“Sometimes…” she began, giving a minute shake of her head as she exhaled a stream of smoke.  “Sometimes I wonder if we would have really met at all if you hadn’t been such an asshole in the bathroom.”  She laughed, shaking her head.

“The bathroom?” Marti prompted.  Emma laughed again.

“Oh you know, the first time we met, in the bathroom…,” and she paused, rolling her eyes as she continued, “when you said I looked like a frog?”  

“Ah!  Right,” he laughed and snuck the joint out of her fingers, sucking in.

“You guys were total children,” she accused lightly, “you wouldn’t let me piss without kissing one of you!  Although maybe I should have seen that there was a separate door,” she added. She looked off again, distant.  Generally Emma projected a light-hearted personality, and while she wasn’t a mood maker in the way Elia was, she was social and liked to keep conversation flowing.  Ever since they started organizing these little music rendezvous however, Martino had come to know a different side of her, one that was more private, contemplative.  Emma would get into moods sometimes where a feeling gripped her so strongly that she’d be unable to shake it for hours. They both gravitated towards electronic music for purposes that went beyond aesthetic enjoyment, finding solace in the atmosphere created by its repetitive, driving beat and percussive tonalities.  When things were a little overwhelming, carving out some time to space out on the roof usually helped bring things a little more into their proper alignment. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to notice how much closer they’d gotten once things had been made clear between them, how much more she had allowed him to see when he wasn’t hiding so much of himself.  Learning that they had things in common had also made Martino realize how dismissive he’d been of her feelings. There was something that made him assume that the desires of a teenage girl were frivolous, somehow, or unserious in some way that his weren’t. The hypocrisy was only apparent to him once she started talking to him again.

Martino also wondered sometimes about the what-ifs of the past few months, though he normally avoided asking those questions about the more recent events.  What if he hadn’t listened to that awful voicemail he had received at midnight mass on Christmas Eve because his phone had died, or he’d gotten distracted, or some other thing?  Some things he couldn’t bear to think of going any other way; the events of the last few months were rendered all the more amazing for the fact that they somehow managed to produce his present reality.  The fact of those events felt so fragile sometimes that it felt like thinking too much about the other ways things could have gone would change the way things turned out. This time last year he could never have imagined being where he was now.

That said, he could very easily imagine an alternate reality in which he and Emma no longer spoke or associated with one another.  Her one crime was that she had only seen what she had wanted to see, and at the time her obliviousness was her defining characteristic, all the more so since it allowed him to hide in plain sight.  It also became the primary reason for his contempt, even though he had been the one to actively cultivate her ignorance. Perhaps it was because he did so, and that she had welcomed the lie, that had soured him towards her. He would admit that if he had the chance to do it all over again he wouldn’t change anything; but even so, he did feel sorry about how it had affected Emma at the time.  Since then he had learned things about her—that she aspired to become a portrait photographer, was a night-owl and fiercely protective of her friends in a way that reminded him of Eva—and she hadn’t deserved to get caught in the blast radius of Martino and Niccolò’s imploding relationship. He was so out of his mind at the time that he hadn’t thought to feel sorry, and now that they were several months out from it it made more sense to let it all stay in the past.  But now she seemed small and cold, cupping her elbows as she leaned on the banister and he wondered. 

“Is everything alright, Emma?” he asked.  She shook her head.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.  We’re friends now, right?” She turned to face him, but looked past him to the rooftop door.  Martino swallowed.

“I think so,” he smiled, feeling a little wobbly.  He hoped that they weren’t going to rehash what had happened back then.  But he felt some relief along with the fear that they would. She nodded.

“There are some things that I understand now, of course, now that I’ve known you two for longer.  I know that you were never really interested in me. That what was between us had been,” she breathed in deeply, “imagined by me.  That nobody knew that you were gay.” She frowned, rolling the joint between her thumb and pointer finger. “That you were afraid.”

He hummed, wishing that somebody would come through the door and interrupt them.  He extended a hand and she passed him the joint.

“And Nico had Maddi,” she added, as if it could have been an afterthought.  She seemed to wait for a reaction. Anger flared in Martino’s stomach, but he remained quiet.  Held the roll up to his mouth and sucked in. Waited three seconds. Blew out through his teeth.

“There was a period where I wondered whether you hated me.  I knew that I was being irrational, thinking that maybe you really didn’t see my messages, or that you were just not very active on social media.  But when you kissed me at the party my doubts went away. I was right. _Finally_ , I thought.  _The boy I like likes me back_.  That’s what I thought a kiss at a party meant.  I talked with Maddi about it that night, thinking that maybe she could give me some advice.”  She smiled humorlessly. Martino smoked. “But it didn’t really matter, because you went right back to avoiding me.”

He looked away.  He remembered all of this, of course—it hadn’t happened all that long ago. He had larger concerns, then, and didn’t have time for the meaningless crush of a girl who didn’t even really know him.  She’d get bored eventually, he reasoned. When she kept messaging him and accosting him in the halls he couldn’t figure out a way to make her stop, short of coming out and telling her. He started taking circuitous routes to classes and the boys would look at him as if he were a puzzle to solve.  “I don’t understand you sometimes Marti,” Elia had said, eyebrows raised, “You have this great girl after you, who would do anything just to spend some time with you. And you can’t get far enough away.” “Why don’t you just date her then?” Martino had shot back, but Elia was already shaking his head.  “You know that’s not the point man. I just don’t get it.” Gio had looked like he knew something and that frightened Marti more than Elia’s confusion. But Gio just changed the subject, mentioning that he’d found this new place to skate on the way to his house, and that had been that. Gio never told him when he’d found out about Marti, and Marti was still leery of asking him, even now.

The wind picked up and Martino drew his coat tighter.  “Adina was so mad at you,” Emma was saying, “I don’t know if you noticed.”  Martino remembered a girl with blue hair glaring at him from across the courtyard.  Adina, he supposed, and he nodded. “I’d talk about you all the time and she’d get annoyed.  ‘This boy is playing you. He’s probably gay,’ she’d say.”

“Oh fuck off Emma, she did not,” Martino coughed.  Emma laughed unkindly.

“Marti, you’re out, it doesn’t even matter anymore.  And maybe she did know. She likes girls, you know.” Martino thoughts went to the party last week where he’d seen Adina furiously make out with Adalberto from class 5A.  She could be bi, a voice that sounded like Filippo’s reminded him.

“Does she know that you’re going around telling people about her sexual preferences?” he asked instead.

She laughed, uncomfortable now, and snagged the joint from Marti’s fingers, finishing it off before tossing the butt off the roof.

“I don’t know why I brought it up.”  She bit on the inside of her cheek and looked up at Marti briefly before looking away.  “You won’t say anything, will you? She’s not in the closet, exactly, but she’s trying to be discreet and I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Of course I won’t.”

“What I’ve been trying to say is that I get that I was an idiot.  I don’t need to know what happened with you and Nico then. But sometimes I still feel like an idiot.”

“Why?”

“Because I know that you didn’t take me seriously then, and I understand that I didn’t know you all that well.  But I wanted to get to know you, even as friends, and it didn’t seem to fucking matter. You were too good to interact with me.  What hurt the most, at the end of it all, was that you had taken my measure and had decided, from the start, that there was nothing that I could do that would make it worth your time to get to know me.  And then we never talked about it, even when we started talking about other things. But in the corner of my mind I can’t shake the thought that you’re still humoring me, that maybe you feel sorry for me and that’s the only reason why you’re here.”

Martino blinked, stunned.  His fingers twitched for something to hold.  Emma hadn’t looked his way since she started talking, but now she lifted her eyes to his.

“Look, Emma…”

“I don’t want pity, Marti.  I just want to be friends. _Real_ friends.”  Her breath shuddered out and he was distantly aware of her heat next to him.  He sighed.

“I also want to be friends, Emma.  There...things were really complicated at the time.  And I know that sounds like an excuse, but believe me when I say that it wasn’t really about you.  I felt like I was going crazy all the time. There was so much that I,” he thrust his hands into his pockets, trying to stop them from shaking, “that I was learning about myself because suddenly everything I had been trying to keep locked away was rushing out and wouldn’t go back in.

“And I also hated myself because all that stuff seemed to be hurting everybody else.   _There’s a reason you didn’t try before_ I would tell myself, _things like this happen when you let this part of you into the light._  My life was falling apart, Elia wasn’t talking to me so Luca also wasn’t talking to me, Gio was there but also wasn’t, not really.  I was lonelier than I had ever been, and being home just amplified that. Niccolò was ignoring me. And I felt worthless.

“Then there was this girl who I had treated like total shit, who still thought that being with me would be a good idea.  And I felt even worse, because I knew that I was using her, but it almost seemed like she was letting herself be used, that she didn’t care that I was using her.  Here was this girl who didn’t know me, really, who I had ignored and treated terribly, but somewhere along the way I had deluded her into thinking that I was still worth it.  But there was no way that I could give her what she was asking for. At that point it was really only a matter of time before she would know; I was just waiting for the other foot to drop.  Everything was rushing out and I didn’t know which way was up, let alone what lies I had told.”

His breath was harsh in his throat.  Emma had turned toward him as he was speaking, face serious.

“Well, anyway.  When we started talking again, when you reached out, I was relieved.  You’re right, that I hadn’t really gotten to know you. I assumed that I already knew everything important and was distracted from looking deeper.  Maybe it wasn’t right that I had relied on you to make the first gesture, especially given everything,” he gestured between them and felt something in his stomach settle when she smiled.  “But I was glad that you had, and I’ve been glad ever since. You’ve _got_ to know that it wasn’t all a lie—there was just this one thing, this one big, scary thing that I felt I had to lie about in order to live like a normal person.”  He sucked in a big breath. “And—” he began, but then Emma was hugging him.

“Just, shut up,” she said, her face muffled in his shoulder.  He smiled, confused.

“What?”

She pulled away.  “Look. I won’t say I forgive you for the bullshit you pulled,” she said, brandishing a finger before relenting.  “But I also wasn’t being very fair, maybe. I just wasn’t able to move on from it, and I didn’t get how you were.  I know better now that whatever was going was painful, and I’m sorry for making you relive it. I didn’t mean to do that.”  She squeezed his arm before letting go.

“I won’t say I forgive you, but—” he started before laughing as Emma smacked him on the shoulder.  “ _But_ ,” he continued, “I’d like it if we could be friends.  Properly, if you like,” and he stuck out his right hand.

Emma rolled her eyes, but when she gripped his hand in hers, she smiled.

 

~

Later that day Marti flops onto Niccolò’s bed face-down with a groan.  Niccolò turns in his chair to follow him and sees that Marti’s shirt has ridden up at the waist, exposing a band of freckled skin.  Niccolò’s hand twitches on his thigh.

“Everything alright, Marti?” he asks, voice playful but giving nothing away.

“Yeah,” Marti says, but there’s a frown in his voice.  Niccolò gets up as quietly as he can.

“Really,” he deadpans, creeping closer, hands at the ready.  He is about to pounce before Marti turns, propping himself up on an arm.  

“Emma and I—What are you doing?” Marti’s mouth softens into a smile and Niccolò feels its impact in his core, like he always does.  Marti crooks an eyebrow when Niccolò fails to respond, and his dimples deepen.  This development is predictably devastating. Niccolò wants to roll his eyes at himself. He flops onto the bed next to Marti.

“Absolutely nothing,” he says, moving a hand up to pull at a stray lock of Marti’s hair.  

He feels Marti’s mouth twitch against his sleeve. “Sure.”

“Anyway,” Niccolò sighs, “why are you mentioning Emma’s name while we’re in bed?”  He lets go of the hair and it springs back into its position curled rebelliously towards the ceiling.  He pulls at it again. It’s not like curly hair is a novelty to Niccolò, but somehow, as with most things, if it’s on Marti it becomes utterly fascinating.  Marti huffs a laugh and lightly pinches his side.

“ _Stronzo_.  Anyway.  We’ve made up.  Officially.”

Niccolò frowns.  “Okay.” When Marti is not more forthcoming he prompts, “Didn’t you guys make up a month ago?”  Marti sighs and pulls Niccolò’s hand towards him.

“Kind of.  I don’t know.  I’m sure this sounds totally outlandish, but sometimes I avoid things that scare me.”  He raises his eyebrows and Niccolò laughs.

“I may have noticed something to that effect,” he says, dropping a hand to the curve of Marti’s hip as Marti rubs warmth into the knuckles of his other hand.

“Well.  I think I just assumed that everything would be fine after everything.  But I should have known it’s usually not so easy.”

“What’d she say,” Niccolò says, unable to keep a certain hardness out of his voice.

“Just that she wants to be friends,”  Marti sighs, “Actual friends. Apparently she’d been feeling like I might have been friends with her out of pity, or something.”  His voice is carefully even in the way that it gets when he is trying to stop something from bothering him.

“You realize that Emma is extremely dense,” Niccolò says, perhaps unkindly.  But he can’t help but feel impatient with her when it comes to things like this.  Choosing Marti was the easiest thing he would ever do, and the fact that Marti chose him back was a gift that he knows to cherish, even if he doesn’t understand it.  That Emma finds reasons to undermine what friendship she has with Marti makes no sense to him.

“I think that maybe it makes sense that Emma felt uncertain,” Marti muses.

“Marti,” Niccolò says, pulling him close, “I don’t know how to break this to you. You’re not a good liar.”  Marti’s laugh shudders in Niccolò’s ear. “You don't suffer bullshit.  It seems like Emma wanted verbal confirmation for something that you've already been confirming with your actions." He swipes a thumb across the back of Marti's neck, smoothing the hair there.  "God knows I wouldn't listen to electronica with Emma if you paid me.  But I think that anybody who spends any time with you, or knows you even a little bit, would know where they stand with you."

Niccolò feels Marti’s arms wind around his back and tighten briefly.

“Thanks,” Marti says, though something in his tone gives Niccolò the feeling that he is thanking him for more than comforting him just now.  Niccolò rests his head in the curve of Marti’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

“Always,” he says, and means forever.

**Author's Note:**

> a/n:  
> I wanted to write a possible future in which Martino and Emma settle into a friendship after the projected events of this season. this wee fic tries to work through some of the issues that would come up in their attempt to reconcile and move forward.  
> 


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